Water Of Dispute

The controversy around shooting of Water, Canada-based Indian director Deepa Mehta's last in the trilogy (Fire and Earth preceded it), has had unexpected results. Questions about a past submerged in contemporary problems have emerged. Whether one likes the script, if the film ever gets made, or not, is another matter. But, that the plight of widows once relegated to the lanes and bylanes of Benaras, or Varanasi, is not fiction has come to the surface once again. It is a shameful chapter in self-styled culture that proponents would rather not dwell upon. Was it this fear, that the `holy' image of the city would be tarnished, that made agitation, whichever groups stoked it, necessary?

Varanasi, or Kashi, is often referred to as the 'real India' where time has stood still. The ghats, or riverbanks, the temples and streaming pilgrims have remained the same for centuries. Yet, the tranquil waters of the Ganga, the holiest river for the Hindus, has also witnessed the human tragedy of young women condemned by the very society that prides itself in carrying forward an ancient culture. Incidentally, Benaras is reputable for other things too; for its famous 'paan', or embellished betel leaves, musical traditions, and nautch girls. Leaf through any Bengali novel set in pre-Independence days about zamindars throwing caution and money to the winds, and you will find them flaunting 'baijis' from Lucknow or Benaras, a cut above the local ones, performing in their palaces.

A majority of educated Indians do not see why Mehta's film, set in the1930s, should be a slur on the city's culture. There are many families from Bengal whose ancestors have settled down in Varanasi. They say that those who oppose it are "hypocrites." Most of these widows, who once were a part of the Varanasi ambience, came from Bengal. Bengali writer Narayan Sanyal's famous novel Asalitatar Daye has its central character Anandamohan Ray falling in love with a widow, Tatini. Until social reformers like Vidyasagar advocated and were able to bring a change, young Brahmin girls had to be married off before they attained puberty. The social ostracisation was such that if parents failed to do so, they married off their daughters even to men in their 60s or 70s. Besides, a man could marry as many girls as he wished, and even received cash from parents for the deed because he 'rescued' these girls, as well themselves, from becoming social outcasts. The result was inevitable; girls became widows even in their teens, some of them before consummating their marriage. Since widows were never expected to re-marry and were supposed to live an ascetic life, they had to wear white sarees, their hair had to be tonsured to make them unattractive and they could eat only vegetarian food. Conservative Bengali widows, a dwindling number today, don't even take onion or lentils (masoor dal) and garlic. These 'tamasik' foods are supposed to increase body heat, so the patriarchal society decided that such denials would keep their young widows under leash.

Many of these widows were sent to Varanasi to spend the rest of their lives in the dingy hovels, praying and singing in praise of the Lord so as to attain 'moksha' (a place in heaven, never to be born again). More often than not, for families it was a good way to get rid of a liability and also to be able to sleep in peace, without guilt over what they did to their own women. After all, weren't they sent to serve god? If they knew that the gods were often earthly beings in the form of patrons and priests who exploited them and made them mistresses, it was best to pretend ignorance. However, in olden times rich landlords had their own palaces in Varanasi. Widows could get food and clothes from them by singing 'bhajan's' (chants in praise of god). Today, with social change and a better status for women, and also the age-difference between couples narrowing down, the number of such widows in Varanasi is not significant, and restrictions on food and clothes are not so stringent. But, poor widows from rural areas, discarded by families, still wind up at Varanasi as the last resort. Only, there are no benevolent landlords to give them food and clothes, so many end up begging on the streets.

Dr. (Ms.) Indira Goswami, a well-known writer from Assam (a state in northeastern India) while staying in Mathura, another famous Vaishanavite holy town near Delhi, in her research, found that even in the 1960s, hordes of hungry widows fought over food from the temples or begging. So moved was she that she wrote a novel Nilkanthi Braja, a moving account of helpless widows that created a stir. And to think its setting is a good 30 years later from Water!

Meanwhile, Aparna Sen, herself an unconventional filmmaker from Calcutta, echoes the apprehension of the creative fraternity when she says, "Mehta has been forced into the humiliating position of having to negotiate with self-styled preservers of Indian culture.. ..this gross violation of the right to freedom of expression in democratic India makes one shudder a the prospect of having to continue to make films in this country." Even such negotiations have not helped as the government ordered pack-up to the unit, fearing law and order problems. Sen also observes that by such acts the country can only go back to 'dark Middle Ages.'

Credits

Editing : Reeta Sinha